Amie
Three Weeks Later
Today is the big day. After months of saying I did not want to get a divorce—who would want to be divorced after less than a day of marriage—Pierce and his colleague, who specializes in family law at his firm, finally talked me into filing divorce papers. I was tired of being unwillingly chained to Armstrong. Pierce took real pleasure in telling Armstrong. But the real satisfaction came when he mentioned that the divorce would activate a fidelity clause in the prenup. After realizing how much money and stock in Moorehead Media he’d have to give me, he quickly signed the annulment papers. I would’ve been offended if I hadn’t been so relieved.
Finally the nightmare is over and Armstrong is out of my life—well, as out of it as he can be since he’s related to my best friend’s fiancé and my boyfriend. But at least seeing him will be isolated to her wedding and the occasional social event.
I call Ruby the second the paperwork is filed. “I’m free!”
She squeals excitedly. “Finally! Want to come over for an Anti-Armstrong celebration cocktail? I’m pretty sure we have champagne chilling in the wine fridge.”
I get into the waiting Uber. “Thanks for the offer, but I have something I need to do.”
“Don’t you mean someone you need to do?”
“Ha ha. It’s the middle of the day, I’m just stopping by the Concord to say hi.”
“In case you didn’t realize it, Amie, that’s a hotel, with literally hundreds of beds. There’s plenty of opportunity for you to use your vagina to say hi to his penis if you want.”
I snort. While I’m certainly looking forward to all variety of greetings, what I’m most excited and nervous about is finally being able to do away with the secrecy. The people closest to us know, but this means we’ll be able to attend functions together and not worry about backlash or gossip. And go on dates, and eat in restaurants, and hold hands in public. I’ve never been so excited about PDAs.
“So does this mean you two don’t need chaperones anymore?”
“We didn’t need chaperones in the first place.”
Now it’s Ruby’s turn to make a disbelieving sound. “You do realize the last time we had dinner the two of you made fuck-eyes at each other the entire time.”
“Like you’re one to talk. You and Bane make fuck-eyes at each other constantly.”
“We do n— Okay, you have a point, we do that often. Can I tell you how proud I am of you right now?”
“For getting Armstrong to sign the annulment papers?”
“For allowing yourself to take a chance on someone who actually deserves you.”
“Okay, I’m getting off the phone before you make me cry and my mascara runs.”
“Your mascara is always waterproof.”
“I don’t want cry-eyes, only fuck-eyes. I love you. Wish me luck.”
“Luck.”
I hang up and take a deep breath as the car pulls up in front of the Concord, where Lex is working this afternoon.
In the weeks since the engagement party he’s been in regular contact. To be completely honest, almost nothing has changed between us apart from how often we see each other. Phone calls, texts, some video chats all became our norm. But sex is off the table and so are sleepovers. Which is part of the reason we haven’t seen as much of each other.
It’s not just about my limited control, it’s his as well, which makes me feel slightly better. When we’re together we’re compelled to touch, and that can be dangerous. I am ashamed to report I have tried to get into his pants every time I’ve seen him. I even suggested just the tip once. And dry humping. He still said no, although I could tell it wasn’t easy.
The six times I’ve seen Lex—all planned and in public places—the only contact I’m allowed is a hug and some hand holding. He won’t even kiss me—well he did, but it was on the cheek. I tried the sneaky-quick head turn to get some lip-on-lip contact. It didn’t work the way I wanted it to.
Lex has made it perfectly clear that until I’m where I need to be emotionally, his dick is staying in his pants and out of me. It’s some solid incentive to sort myself out. I miss him. Not just the sex, which I definitely miss, but just being near him. I hadn’t realized in the months since we started sleeping together just how close we’d become. I miss the constant contact. I miss snuggling. I miss sleeping beside him and the warmth of his body next to mine. I feel as though an extension of myself has been removed without that closeness.
I tried to expedite the process, but the truth is I’ve had a lot of personal sorting to do that no amount of yoga or self-defense classes could help me with. I don’t let people get too close to me because I’m afraid I’ll end up like my parents, who are constantly running away from each other. I fear being let down or being left behind.
The only person I’ve ever allowed to get close and stay close is Ruby, because she’s been there with me through everything, my endless rebellions, my parents’ unstable, tumultuous relationship, moving to New York, my string of hot yet terrible boyfriends.
Armstrong seemed safe because he appeared to be the polar opposite of who I’d been attracted to. I fell in love with the idea of safety instead of an actual person. Spending the rest of my life in a loveless marriage would’ve been torture. And then Lex came and turned everything upside down. I tried to run, but I just ended up going in circles, because I finally had a taste of what real love, the kind that makes a person want to stay, could be like.
Through this entire thing Lex has been my constant. After Ruby’s engagement party he didn’t give me space like I expected. Instead he messaged daily, just to tell me he was thinking about me and that he was here if I needed him. It’s the way he’s been from the beginning—since he saved me in the airport from the security jerks rummaging through my sex toy tickle trunk. Or maybe even before that, from the moment he introduced himself and offered to get me a drink, he’s been there, sometimes in the background, just waiting—watching—but not in a creepy way.
Lex is a tender soul. The more I let my guard down and him in, the more of that tenderness I see. He’s still a flirt and incredibly filthy, but there’s another side to him, one I caught glimpses of in Bora Bora, and once we were back in New York.
Once Lex is in, he’s all in. That scares me a little, but it doesn’t change how I feel about him. I’m in love with this man. I’ve come to terms with that over the past few weeks.
I find him in his favorite place to work, sitting in the back of the restaurant with his laptop and several file folders laid out in front of him. I take a moment to truly see him. He’s wearing his glasses. Dear sweet Lord they do amazing things to my body. Although that might be due in part to the weeks of sex deprivation. Lex Sex Withdrawal.
His suit jacket is slung over the chair next to him, his shirtsleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, showing off the colorful artwork along his forearm. His hair is perfectly styled, the only part of him that really conforms. I exhale a shaky breath as I finally allow the feelings that have been confined and locked down to rise to the surface.
I want this man so badly. And not just in bed, which I definitely want, but in all facets of my life.
He’s immersed in his work so he doesn’t notice as I cross the restaurant. I bring a finger to my lips when the staff, who are already familiar with me, wave in greeting. As soon as I move into his peripheral vision his gaze lifts, surprise registers, then a smile lights up his gorgeous face. “Hi.”
I adjust my purse strap, all my nerves firing at once. “Hi.”
“I wasn’t expecting to see you until later tonight.” He pushes his chair back and stands.
I take a cautious step forward as Lex’s gaze moves over me, taking in my attire. I’m wearing a dress. It’s black, short, and clingy. The perfect annulment dress. When his gaze finally returns to my face it’s full of familiar heat. The kind I haven’t been able to appreciate in weeks. And behind that are emotions I didn’t see before, maybe because I wasn’t ready for them.
My nervousness must be apparent in the way I’m twisting my hands, because the heat quickly simmers and fades, replaced by concern.
His fingertips skim the length of my bare arms. “Is everything okay, Amie?”
“I just met with Pierce.” Even my voice is trembling, along with every other part of me. I didn’t realize just how afraid I’ve been of this moment. Sometimes being unleashed is just as terrifying as being shackled. And now that I can have this man, I have the irrational fear that he won’t want me anymore.
His eyes flare and his fingers drop. “Oh?”
“Armstrong finally signed the papers.” I do partial jazz hands and bite my lip. Dammit. Why do I feel like I’m going to cry? I blink a few times, trying to clear the sudden blur.
Lex’s expression softens. “Are you okay?”
I nod and step into him. His arms come around me, warm, solid, grounding. “I don’t know why I’m so emotional about this,” I mumble into his chest.
I feel his lips at my temple. “You can be as emotional as you want, baby. He tethered you for no reason other than that he could, and now you’re free, that has to be a foreign feeling.”
I absorb his affection. This man, right here, is everything I want. Admitting it is the easy part. Eventually I pull back so I can see him. I trace the contour of his jaw. His patience has been astounding. This is what love really is. Giving someone time to find their way back to you, holding out a hand when they’re ready to take it.
“I’m as relieved as I am scared.”
He touches my knuckle to his lips. I feel it everywhere in my body. “What are you scared of?”
“I don’t know. Everything? I don’t want to be a mistake for you.”
“Tell me something.” He cups my face in his wide, warm palms and brushes his lips gently over mine. “Does this feel like a mistake to you?”
My lips move against his as I answer. “No.”
“Then what is there to be afraid of?”
“This,” I whisper.
“What part of this?”
“What if it doesn’t work out?”
“What if it does?”
“I don’t want to get hurt again.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, Amie, I want to love you.” He caresses my cheek with his knuckles. “Won’t you let me try?”
At my nod his lips find mine again, but it’s not gentle or chaste this time.
One heated kiss in the middle of the restaurant is all it takes for Lex to pack up his laptop and files. We can’t keep our hands or mouths to ourselves on the elevator ride to the penthouse floor. We barely make it through the door—to the same suite we got caught in last time—before Lex drops to his knees and shoves my dress up to my hips.
He exhales a long breath with a low whistle. “Ah, fuck.” And then he nuzzles the black lace and leather before he bites the inside of my thigh. He lifts his gaze, his smile wicked. “Up for a little anarchy, are we?”
“With you? Always.”